• Last Seen: 7 mos ago
  • Joined: 3 yrs ago
  • Posts: 9 (0.01 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Latest 10 profile visitors:

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Pokash
Nobash, the Dry Season
February 4th, 2057


"DEATH TO VELUCA!"

"AVENGE BIG SPACE!"

"BLOOOOD ON THE MOUNTAINTOOOPS!"

Big Man Jash oozed with pleasure and other things as he watched the shouting troops struggle through the mire below. A major commander of the military branch of Pokash (incidentally, the country's only branch), Big Man Jash had no greater joy in life than that what he drained, mosquito-like, from the veins of a nation engaged in the delicate dance of war. He loved the fighting. He loved the killing. He loved the mind-numbing logistics of coordinating millions of weary troops. In fact, he liked it all so much that he felt he could sing. Big Man Jash waltzed elegantly over the bodies of his gasping subordinates and belched out his favorite dirge, and within minutes the army struggling below him took up the call with booming pride:

A HUNDRED, A THOUSAND, A MILLION AND MORE!
A MILLION STRONG WE GO TO WAR!
LIKE THUNDERCLOUDS WE CRACK THE SKY,
WITH EVERY SOLDIER'S BATTLE CRY!

A HUNDRED, A THOUSAND, A MILLION AND MORE!
A MILLION HEADS WE'LL TAKE BEFORE
THIS MARCH IS DONE! AS ONE WE ROAR,
SPILL ALL THEIR BLOOD FROM SHORE TO SHORE!

A HUNDRED, A THOUSAND, A MILLION AND MORE!
A MILLION MILES WE MARCH TO WAR!
BACK TO OUR FAM'LIES AND OUR FIELDS
WE SHALL RETURN - ON FEET, OR SHIELDS!

A HUNDRED, A THOUSAND, A MILLION AND MORE!
A MILLION WOUNDS WE'LL TAKE, THEREFORE,
WE CAN'T BE WEAK, IF UP WE RISE!
A SOLDIER BLEEDS, BUT NEVER DIES!


As Big Man Jash completed the final pirouette, he let loose a primal roar that was soon taken up by the entire company of hatalmawsh warriors, energizing the hairy tripods into a berserker sprint across the last few miles of knee-deep muck. The big man knew that this first assault was a mere formality in the big scheme of things (which was his favorite scheme of things). The hatalmawsh suicide rush was tradition; no fashionable war was complete without one. And this assault, Big Man Jash mused with a gleeful grin, was going to result in more hatalmawsh casualties than any other assault in Pokash history. He definitely had a big, shiny medal in his future.

The nation of Pokash had been starved for war. It had far too many young, athletic, angry hatalmawsh men and women who desperately needed weeding out. A country couldn't survive if it was ruled by the small; that's why all those other nations needed to rely on their fancy, glowy, confusing technology to make ends meet. The hatalmawsh were above, or maybe below, such things. And Big Man Jash was going to make sure that the whole world knew it - starting with the Greater Union of Veluca. Pokash officials, particularly the largest and slimiest men for some reason, had wasted little time last month in letting fly with accusations pertaining to the spectacular, and completely anticipated, failure of their most recent satellite launch. Big Man Jash didn't possess the neurons necessary to wonder if Veluca was actually responsible for the explosion. All he wanted was to engage once more in that tiring, monotonous, spontaneously and intricately terrifying, and above all beautiful dance of organized warfare. First, he would conquer Veluca; this was the campaign Big Man Jash needed to secure his absolute dominion over the Big Men of Pokash, and once it was over, he knew no one would dare question his next move: Systematic domination of the entire globe. And then the solar system, if those damn satellites would stop exploding. And then the galaxy - and then, perhaps, the past and future, for Big Man Jash had seen a science fiction book once and had thought the pictures were very interesting.

A cry rose from the front of the line - the lead scouts must have sighted the Velucan border! Big Man Jash felt the blood boil in his veins, aching for the glorious, glamorous game of life and death, itching to be pumped by a three-chambered heart into the limb that struck each killing blow, crying out for release from a mortal wound. The hatalmawsh commander stood up on his rear leg and let out a ferocious battle cry - the hatalmawsh 'war language,' composed of grunts, shouts, and hisses, is arguably more developed than their actual language - a fearsome howl which roughly translated to "Kill all of those damn whoever lives on the other side of these mountains and then make the survivors burn their houses down around them." Big Man Jash's army took up the furious shout as one and broke into a sprint as they whirled their sharpened logs and wooden shields and flailing limbs to fall upon the Velucan border with a charge to rival Custer's own...
Pokash (hatalmawsh for 'big country')
A nobash (hatalmawsh for 'big living tree') in the Big Dry Region
January 3rd, 2057 (the globally-adopted calendar proved to be more convenient than a more traditional system under which every month was 'big month' or 'bigger month')


"Liftoff liftoff liftoff liftoff liftoff."

Lizard Woman Keshesh cheered with her brood of five healthy young trips. Hatalmawsh young were called trips because they were small and had a tendency to get underfoot; today, however, the five children felt bigger than the entire world, for their great country of Pokash had finally taken the next vital step towards conquering the universe. They watched on the television as the satellite's rocket engines forced its crude body into space, much as a toddler forces a cube through a round hole.

Hatalmawsh, like big hairballs on stilts, could not be said to be beautiful, but among her own kind Lizard Woman Keshesh would have been a real neck-turner, if hatalmawsh had necks to turn. Her stench, assured her collection of suitors, who were doubtlessly watching the liftoff from their prison in the tar pit outside, was a potent insecticide for miles around. As it were, Lizard Woman Keshesh looked more like three soda straws stuck into a moldy potato than anything that would win a Miss Nova Mondial pageant. Nevertheless, this woman, the beauty of her race, only had eyes (three of them, one on each side) for one man - Big Man Shakashosh, one of the nation's 17 Big Men, powerful and large hatalmawsh who ruled each of its 17 regions and made all the big decisions.

Lizard Woman Keshesh, skilled in the art of the man (even throwing paint at a wall is art), could have chosen any of the nation's Big Men to be her groom. She watched as the satellite's rocket engines continued to roar into the heavens. Perhaps it was just a coincidence that Big Man Shakashosh, the one she had chosen as the victim of her love, was currently one of the farthest people aways from her. Lizard Woman Keshesh brushed a clawed hand tenderly over the television screen. So smart, her Shakashosh, so wise, so very sizable; if anyone could conquer space, it was him.

"IT'S BEAUTIFUL," sighed Lizard Woman Keshesh with a voice that would be considered by most civilized nations as 'cruel and unusual punishment.' "WAVE TO YOUR FATHER, CHILDREN. WAVE FASTEEER!"

As the five young trips giggled and roared and flailed their limbs at the TV screen, the satellite exploded. Lizard Woman Keshesh gasped and put a fist through the screen. "THAT'S ENOUGH TV FOR TODAY, CHILDREN. GO STEAL TONIGHT'S BEDS." She paced the room, pondering the consequences, as the little trips raced eachother away down the stairs. That was the eighth failed launch this month. But they had to get it right eventually. If you throw enough things at the wall, one of them will eventually stick.

In the meantime, Lizard Woman Keshesh would need a new husband. She peered out the window to the prison tar pit outside, where her suitors waved self-consciously from among the tortured screams of the city's criminals, vagrants, and nearsighted (the tar pit is located in the center of the street). She sighed. Her Shakashosh had lasted ten days in the pit to prove his love, longer than anyone else she'd known. Who else was so big, so strong, so heat-resistant? She'd have to search the world to find a man like that.

Search the world... Now that was an idea...

Lizard Woman Keshesh smiled. If her brain had been a whiteboard, it would have shown the words 'ROCKET EXPLOSION' and 'SCAPEGOAT' and 'INVASION' and 'KIDNAPPING LARGE OFFICIALS ONE-BY-ONE' written in block letters, underlined, and connected in messy concentric circles. It was the makings of a perfect plan, the kind of plan that was whispered just out of the audience's hearing, the kind that such a high-ranking woman might even be able to pull off. Lizard Woman Keshesh stole her bed but lay awake most of the night scheming and scratching her parasites. It was high time the hatalmawsh went to war.
Name of Nation: Pokash

Nation Characteristics: Though dim-witted by many standards, the hatalmawsh of Pokash defend their homeland with ferocity and pride. The hatalmawsh's biological incapability to second-guess its own beliefs makes for a bigoted species that has trouble understanding others and engaging in diplomacy with foreign nations. Pokash disguises its every negotiation as a rancorous demand: "PROVIDE A PORT TO BUY OUR GOODS." "ENGAGE IN PEACE TALKS." "ACCEPT 3,000,000 CREDITS IN AID, DAMN YOU." Hatalmawsh culture values 'bigness' as the ultimate standard of beauty and authority. The swamp is good because it is big enough to sustain us, the trees are good because they are big enough to live in, the mountains are good because they are big enough to defend our land, and Boss Hash is the boss because he is taller than you or me.

Nation Location: Nova Mondial. Southern mountain range on large eastern continent, and an area of forest west of them.

Nation Initial Population: 53 million

Species Name: Hatalmawsh

Species Characteristics: Like a furry ball on stilts, the three-legged hatalmawsh strides through swamps and scales cliffsides with ease, thanks to webbed claws on each long, spindly limb. Its bulbous abdomen is covered in slimy strands of hair. Three beady black eyes, one centered between each pair of shoulders, look out in all directions. To feed, the carnivorous hatalmawsh traps its prey with its legs and settles down to gore it with a tough beak on the underside of its spherical belly, later vomiting out the bones and waste. The creatures communicate through touch and vocalizations.

Side Chosen in Void War: Strong allegiance to the Cindorayi due to history of trade and support.

Technological Level: Pre-modern technology - the hatalmawsh have traded for modern-era devices, but have failed to implement the innovations of ideas, such as the assembly line, that would allow them to produce their own technologies at a large scale. As such, most hatalmawsh make do with what they can personally scavenge and create. The wealthy make use of luxury technologies from foreign nations, making Pokash rely heavily on imports to remain relevant on the world stage. The nation has little space presence. Every few years it launches another doomed satellite, sometimes manned by an unfortunate crew, to crash and burn and leave the hatalmawsh scientists scratching their furred abdomens over what could've gone wrong.

Special Resource: Tiger drop mushrooms, a potent narcotic native to the Pokash swamps. A profitable trade is done worldwide by smuggling the stuff into nations that outlaw it. Pokash itself allows recreational use of the drug, partially because of the profits it hauls in from the flood of tourists to its heavily-taxed tiger drop parlors.
OK how zis

Name of Nation: Pokash

Nation Characteristics: Though dim-witted by many standards, the hatalmawsh of Pokash defend their homeland with ferocity and pride. The hatalmawsh's biological incapability to second-guess its own beliefs makes for a bigoted species that has trouble understanding others and engaging in diplomacy with foreign nations. Pokash disguises its every negotiation as a rancorous demand: "PROVIDE A PORT TO BUY OUR GOODS." "ENGAGE IN PEACE TALKS." "ACCEPT 3,000,000 CREDITS IN AID, DAMN YOU." Hatalmawsh culture values 'bigness' as the ultimate standard of beauty and authority. The swamp is good because it is big enough to sustain us, the trees are good because they are big enough to live in, the mountains are good because they are big enough to defend our land, and Boss Hash is the boss because he is taller than you or me.

Nation Location: Nova Mondial. Swamp area beneath southern mountains on large eastern continent. Territory also expands a little north into that mountain range, along the river. EDIT: Someone beat me to the swamps! Can I have some of that mountain region next to the yellow-orange?

Nation Initial Population: 53 million

Species Name: Hatalmawsh

Species Characteristics: The three-legged hatalmawsh strides through swamps and scales cliffsides with ease, thanks to webbed claws on each long, spindly limb. Its bulbous abdomen is covered in slimy strands of hair. Three beady black eyes, one centereed between each pair of shoulders, look out in all directions. To feed, the carnivorous hatalmawsh traps its prey with its legs and settles down to gore it with a tough beak on the underside of its spherical belly, later vomiting out the bones and waste. The creatures communicate through touch and vocalizations.

Side Chosen in Void War: Strong allegiance to the Cindorayi due to history of trade and support.

Technological Level: Pre-modern technology - the hatalmawsh have traded for modern-era devices, but have failed to implement the innovations of ideas, such as the assembly line, that would allow them to produce their own technologies at a large scale. As such, most hatalmawsh make do with what they can personally scavenge and create. The wealthy make use of luxury technologies from foreign nations, making Pokash rely heavily on imports to remain relevant on the world stage. The nation has little space presence. Every few years it launches another doomed satellite, sometimes manned by an unfortunate crew, to crash and burn and leave the hatalmawsh scientists scratching their furred abdomens over what could've gone wrong.

Special Resource: Tiger drop mushrooms, a potent narcotic native to the Pokash swamps. A profitable trade is done worldwide by smuggling the stuff into nations that outlaw it. Pokash itself allows recreational use of the drug, partially because of the profits it hauls in from the flood of tourists to its heavily-taxed tiger drop parlors.
Cliff Sing Wind colony, population 53

"Hear you this? Short Chin new-dances on beach. Hurrycome!"

With a yawn, Clear See Far blinked sleep from her eyes. There was her broodmate, Green Set Sun, hanging from the mouth of the cave like a feathered white spider. "Hurrycome or Short Chin finishes! Sleep-face!"

Clear grinned, then pounced, and with a yelp the two Katyusha tumbled down the rocky slope. The moon was high in the sky; Clear had slept very late.

Recovering themselves at the base of the cliff, the siblings chased eachother through the sparse woods that separated that nesting dens from the beaches. They found quite a crowd waiting for them; half the tribe stood gathered in a throng, captivated by something in their center. A good number more had taken to the skies, circling madly above with whoops and shouts.

Pushing her way to the center of the throng, Clear gasped. Short Chin had found a new dance, all right. The young Katyusha had cut a rod of wood from the cane groves, and swung it about her with wild grace. Clear found Green and gave him a look; in an instant the giggling pair had vanished, dashing off to the groves to cut their own dancing-staffs.

The Great White Unknown

It had been four days since Whooping Gull had been banished from the colony. He could not feel his feet; they moved forward on their own, as if dragged by an invisible sled. At night the stars were reflected in the ice and Whooping Gull felt himself float through a black void, lit by white pinpricks and great, swooping majesties of blue and red. Yet it had been very long since he last looked up.

And so it was that Whooping Gull did not know he had reached land until, having crossed the sandy beach, he trod on a gnarled root and fell face-first into a patch of sweetberry bushes. Laying there, the Katyusha felt as one who has half-awoken from a dream, and retained his mind only long enough to seize a handful of the ripe red fruit and chew them down to their juicy pits.

Then Whooping Gull fell into a deep sleep, and did not awaken for a day and a half.

The first thing he felt was a burning throat. The Katyusha sat upright and let loose a deep, parched groan. He could not walk, he could not fly, so for many miles Whooping Gull crawled through the fresh brown grasses until at last the music of a busy brook reached his ears.

His reflection was haggard, unrecognizable; skeletal and feather-bare in many places, Whooping Gull was a parody of his former self. But he drank deep in the brook, and soon his strength returned, and Whooping Gull cackled and danced in the chilled black waters, for he had outsmarted the Dawn Walk. He had not lost his direction in the endless expanses. He had traveled west, and then south, and found a friendly coast. He had survived.

But he could not go back. So Whooping Gull rested for one day more, and turned his feet inland.
Cliff Sing Wind colony, population 53

Eyes clasped shut, Clear See Far grinned against the cold splash of water on her feathers, soon replaced with the beautiful hum of the underwater ambient. She blinked at the salt as rumbling shapes erupted into the water on either side of her; when the bubbles floated away, three Katyusha were revealed in the dark blue void.

Silver webs washed over Clear See Far's skin as she kicked deep into the current. The best sweetleaf, she knew, grew the farthest down, and Clear had always dreamed of breaking her grandfather's record. She knew she could do it - Clear was the best swimmer the Cliff Sing Wind colony had seen for years, if the broodling gossip was anything to believe - and what better night for it than tonight, the night of the full moon, when the Deep Gardens were brightest lit?

A startled whiskerfish wiggled away from Clear See Far's sweeping arms and wings as she swept past the highest shelf of the Gardens. Though this was a route the young Katyusha had taken many times, she had not yet grown accustomed to the Deep Grip, which set quickly to work on her ears and lungs. But Clear steeled her nerves and dove on.

Past one bed, another, and Clear felt her lungs struggling in agitation. Another night, she hummed to herself, and settled into the soft net of fronds, tearing them free from the dark mud. When she had filled her talons she pushed off from the bed and reached up to the distant blue surface with long, slow strokes. Clear smiled as she past each of her flockmates, who had stopped far above her.

Finally, just as the Katyusha felt her lungs were at their limit, Clear burst from the water and heaved the sweet air in large gulps. She had drifted far away from the diving-log - or perhaps it had drifted from her? - so, with the confidence of a successful hunter, Clear See Far swam briskly back, retrieving the sweetleaf gobs from her talons and packing them into what hollows the divers had not already filled with the stuff. Still recovering from the dive, Clear hung onto the log by an arm and lifted her ice blue eyes to the moon. Yes, yes - another night!

Filled with the primal joy of the animal in its element, Clear See Far tilted her head back and howled a high, vibrant note, which swept across the waters to be joined by the throngs of Katyusha who danced away the moonlight on the rocky shore.
"Out! Out! Sun-witch! Kin-eater! Feather-plucker! Get out, out!"

The coast thronged with furious life. Mitts, claws, and tentacles waved in a sea of white feathers and ice-blue eyes that clung to the cliffs like a throbbing paste. Broad wings flapped precariously as those on the edge fought to keep their balance. Stones and sticks flew to clatter and skid across the ice, an ethereal plane lit in a brilliant glow by the rising sun.

Several of the bravest Katyusha - small, white, lithe and feathery things, with feeler-mouths and ocean-eyes - had ventured down the cliffs to stand on the rocky beach at the brink of the ice, waving cane staffs and shouting curses. The object of their rage stood some fifty meters away, not daring to approach the frothing crowd of its kindred on the shore, yet just as loathe to flee into the Great White Unknown. Its talons slipped and clacked on the ice as it scuttled nervously backwards.

With a roar, one of the cliff-dwellers launched itself into the air and, feathers puffed in the chill morning air, soared cleanly downwards; three, five, nine more were quick to follow. The Katyusha on the ice gave a yelp and scrambled away in fright. It hopped, it strained, and its featherless wings swatted mightily at the air, but the creature could not quit the ground. After one more leap the Katyusha resigned itself and put all its energy into bounding away from the rocky beach with its maddened host. Its pursuers flapped up and away and soared back across the ice to the coast, where they were greeted with cheers and swarmed in stifling embraces. As the crowd began to calm and dissipate back beyond the jutting stone cliffs, a lone, sing-song voice drifted like a ghost from far across the white plain, where the fleeing Katyusha had stopped and turned back.

"Horrid forage! Wild beasts!
River shivers! Nothing eats!
Muddied-bloodied, frigid winters,
Scream-dreams, death-days, feather-splinters!
Fish flee, grass die,
Mountains fall, lakes dry!
Brood weep! Children cry!"

But, receiving little response from the faraway cliffs, the Katyusha rested its maw and turned once more into the clear whiteness; in the light of the sun the ice was blinding and the air seemed to shimmer. The plain continued for miles and miles, yet not a speck marred the whiteness in any direction. The creature began its march and this time did not turn back, even as day passed day, thirst came and went, and ground and sky became merged in one singular field of unending blank.

On the cliffs, the most stalwart Katyusha watched as the figure disappeared across the ice, but as the sun climbed higher they each retired to their dens; some had many miles to fly before reaching home. And the sun reached its apex, and fell, and all was quiet on the broad rocky beach.
That's great! :3
Oh this looks like so much fun :D May I join?

Name of Race: Katyusha

Picture/Physical Description: The silky, feathered form of the Katyusha stands a mere one meter tall on large, taloned feet. Their large white wings spread to a span of twice their height but are often folded meekly on their back so as not to get in the way of sport and merrymaking. Katyusha hands are little more than clumsy mitts, but their mouth-tentacles and tail are far more adept at subtle manipulation.
A Katyusha’s head is topped by a feathered crest (the larger and more colorful, the better) as well as two wavy plumes, the both used for mating, territorial, and social displays, and their round, deep eyes of light blue sit atop two massive gill-fins (now vestigial) which hang from their cheeks on either side of their mouth-tentacles. Eyes, mouth, feathers, and fins all work together to express a wide range of emotions.

Images: Spore creature, Sketch (ignore that clothing for now)

Racial Characteristics: Flight, great running speed, agility (used for both climbing and dancing), excellent night vision (but poor day-vision), and – while not great swimmers – they do not usually sink. Due to their thick yet light feathers and their tendency to huddle together like penguins, Katyusha are well adapted to cold climates; warm weather and daylight turn them sleepy, queasy, or dead.

Race Bio: What they lack in intellect, the Katyusha make up for with hardiness of will, lightness of spirit, and unquenchable curiosity. Rare is it to find a creature happier than a Katyusha who has spent the whole night dancing with its comrades on a newfound rocky beach, belting a long, bittersweet, otherworldly song at the moon and the stars. Katyusha are small but do all things in large groups and rarely fight amongst themselves (or at all), not even for mates or territory.
When cornered, a wounded Katyusha may attempt to batter its foe with its strong legs, but otherwise a Katyusha’s response to threat is, rather than crawl under a rock, to take to the skies or lead their predators on long chases across the tundra plains. They flee when they can, hide only when they cannot flee, and fight only when they cannot do either. Thus a Katyusha in battle is a sad sight indeed, for it has already accepted that it will come out at the wrong end of the bracket.
The Katyusha live in clusters of small colonies based in cliffside caves above rocky beaches – small communities spread over large areas to ensure they do not overcome their niche in what precarious ecosystem there is in those chilled wastes. Seminomadic, the Katyusha live for as long as it suits them in whatever area they please, moving on when food is at a shortage or when they become lost in the spellbinding morning light on the way back to the den after a long night spent dancing on the moonlit shore. In short, Katyusha are happy, determined, social creatures, who seem to think little of hardship and are always curious about the natures of things in this strange world they call home.

Location on Map: Perched precariously upon the icy northwestern coast, where sweeping tundra meet the hulking glaciers.

Techs: Primitive instruments (crude hide drums, wooden ocarinas), hilariously unreliable canoes
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet